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they should invent a past that doesn't beat inside me like a second heart
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Claire C. Holland, from I Am Not Your Final Girl: Poems; “Jess”
[Text ID: “I can’t exist in a way that comforts you.”]
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chen chen, nature poem in ‘when i grow up i want to be a list of further possibilities’
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i exist, i exist, i exist
@ryebreadgf // holly warburton // ? // image from pinterest // letters to a young poet by rainer maria rilke
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Woodworking at the End of the World, Ocean Vuong
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George Seferis, from Collected Poems (tr. from the Greek by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard)
[Text ID: If I chose to remain alone, what I longed for / was solitude, not this kind of waiting, / my soul shattered on the horizon, / these lines, these colours, this silence.]
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Ada Limón, from “The Vulture & The Body.”
[Text ID: “What if, instead of carrying a child, I am supposed to carry grief?”]
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“Nothing kidnaps our capacity for presence more cruelly than longing. And yet longing is also the most powerful creative force we know. Out of our longing for meaning came all of art: out of our longing for truth all science; out of our longing for love the very fact of life. We may give this undertone of being different names–Susan Cain calls it ‘the bittersweet’ and Portuguese has the lovely word saudade; the vague, constant longing for something or someone beyond the horizon of reality–but we recognize it in our marrow, in the strata of the soul beyond the reach of words.”
— Maria Popova, from: “The Thing Itself: C.S. Lewis on What We Long for in Our Existential Longing,” The Marginalian (3 September 2022)
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“How do I look away now that I have seen you?”
— — Rachel Mennies, from “April 18, 2017,” The Naomi Letters
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kinda hope you’re thinking about me
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“You hold an absence at your center, as if it were a life.”
— Richard Brostoff, from “Grief,” A Few Forms of Love (Finishing Line Press, 2012) (via proustitute)
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“I know I am but summer to your heart, And not the full four seasons of the year;”
— Edna St. Vincent Millay, from “Sonnet XXVII,” Collected Poems (Harper and Brothers, 1956)
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“How I focused on your shirt, your emphatic hands. / How I listened to you with snow falling, with snow / covering all the tired hoof-prints in my soul / I can not explain.”
— Sujata Bhatt, from “Another Day in Iowa City”, Point No Point: Selected Poems (via soracities)
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“Listen, everyone has a chance. Is it spring, is it morning? Are there trees near you, and does your own soul need comforting? Quick, then—open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song may already be drifting away.”
— Mary Oliver, from “Such Singing in the Wild Branches,” in Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays (via endless-unfolding)
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